Space
by jelenamichel
Summary: I cannot do this anymore." Ziva tells Tony that she needs some space to work out how to deal with, well, him. A little angsty, but it's TIVA at heart. One shot.


**A/N: This is **_**kind of**_** a companion piece to my fic **_**The end of it**_**. It deals with the same kind of thing—one of the dynamic duo needing space—but going about it in a different way. You don't need to read that to understand this, but you're more than welcome to.  
Set now-ish, but I'd put it pre-Jetlag.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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"_I cannot do this anymore."_

_Years from now, Tony would realise that one, terrifying sentence had been the major turning point in his life. But in the present, all he knew was that he didn't like the sound of it, and that it made his heart pound with sheer panic._

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He was at Ziva's house, taking up more than his share of the couch, the pizza and the oxygen with his talking. He'd been aware that something was up with his partner all day, but he rated his chances of finding out what it was as slim. Ziva didn't talk unless it was on _her_ terms, a trait Tony found absolutely maddening at times, and a God send at others.

He'd been ignoring her silent mood on purpose, hoping that if he talked enough, was funny enough, was charming enough, it might break her out of her funk. But the more he talked, the worse it seemed until finally, midway through his story about the time he tried to sneak backstage at a Talking Heads concert, she broke her silence.

"I cannot do this anymore."

His mouth snapped shut as he turned to look at her, cocking his head to the side as he tried to work out what was going on. She was staring straight ahead, her face drawn with stress that he usually associated with long talks with her father, and it was the Director of Mossad that popped into his head at that exact moment as a cause of her mood.

"Huh?" Never let it be said that Anthony DiNozzo was not articulate.

Her eyes briefly swung his way before finding the wall beside the TV. "I talked to Vance and Gibbs today. They have approved my request for personal leave, effective now. I will not be going in to work tomorrow."

If she wanted to get his attention, she certainly had it. "What happened? Are you okay?" He could think of few reasons that Ziva David would not turn up for work. Correction: barring death, he couldn't think of any.

"Yes," she said, and he heard her voice falter. "I just…Vance wanted me to take time after Somalia, but I did not. I think I should take it now."

That horrible feeling, the one that Tony had carried in his guts since the previous summer when Gibbs said she was dead and which had never entirely gone away, hit him so hard that, for a moment, it took his breath away.

He cleared his throat. "Are you…Have you been thinking about it a lot lately?"

She shook her head, and he didn't know if that should be a relief or a worry. "No. No more than usual. This is not about…I do not mean to hurt you, but I need some time away from you, Tony."

For a moment, he was so shocked that he simply didn't understand what she'd said, or what she could have possibly meant. So…she wanted him to go home so she could get some sleep? She didn't want to hang out anymore? She wanted to move to another team? She hated his guts and wanted him to die? What the _hell_?

The silence between them stretched until finally he understood _what_ she was saying, if not the motivation beneath it, and his heart pricked with shards of pain. "Why?" His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears, and he hated that he couldn't push out more than a single word. But he couldn't have formed a full sentence right now if his life depended on it.

She swallowed hard, and for a heart-stopping moment he was sure she was going to cry. But it was gone almost before he noticed it, and she was back to the detachment that had been driving him crazy all day. "I need a break from this. I need to work out how to deal with…you. But I cannot do that if you are around. So I will take some leave to think about things, and hopefully when I get back, I will know what I am doing." She attempted a smile then, but it was poor at best. And it didn't help Tony understand exactly what she meant.

"_Deal_ with me? What did I do?" He intended to sound defensive. It came out whiney and hurt.

He watched her eyes flutter shut for a moment—he assumed she was cursing his stupid male brain—and then she stood and started pacing. Tony remained where he was. He found it hard to move his body when he couldn't feel it.

"You did not do anything," she sighed. "You are yourself, and you cannot help that. And I would never want you to try to be different."

It didn't really answer his question, and Tony was starting to get frustrated. "Ziva, I'm really trying to understand, but it's going over my head. Are you saying that you don't like who I am? I thought we were solid now."

She paused her pacing as she looked up at him, and her expression confused the hell out of him. If he'd seen that look even ten minutes ago, his heart would have stuttered. That was a look of affection if ever he'd seen one. So why was she saying that she wanted to get away from him?

"Tony, of course we are. Of course I like you. That is the problem." She sighed again and resumed pacing. "There is this…thing between us. And we never acknowledge it, but it is there and it is not going away. For me, anyway. It just keeps growing and getting stronger and I cannot deal with it anymore. I cannot continue with the way things are. It exhausts me. Dealing with you, and this thing…I do not know how anymore. I need to get away from you for a short time, to give myself space so I can think and decide how to continue being around you. Do you understand?"

As far as bold statements about their complicated relationship went, Tony thought that one was probably the boldest. And the most honest. Finally, he understood what she was talking about, and it was clear to him why she was going away. He'd had moments in the past when he'd thought along similar lines, when he had deliberately pushed her away to give him time to think and regroup. But this…if she was talking about it in (almost) plain English, and taking official leave from work, he must have _really_ done something to screw with her. He just couldn't for the life of him remember what.

She had stopped moving, and was now standing at the other end of the couch and staring at him with pleading eyes. Slowly, he nodded, but he had to look away. "Yeah, I get it," he said softly. "But don't I get a say in this?"

She didn't reply, and he didn't dare look up to read the answer on her face. "I just think…if you have feelings for me, that's not something I want you to go away and think about and try to get rid of. I'd be more inclined to encourage them. So that we can have a matching set. Of feelings. You know?" He winced as soon as it was out, and cursed himself. It just figured that because she was so articulate that he'd turn it into a seventh grade effort. "I'm sorry, that sucked."

He heard her soft chuckle as she sat down again, but he still didn't dare look at her. "I did not say that I was trying to get rid of my feelings, Tony. And I know from experience that would be a useless exercise. What I said was that I need to work out how to deal with them. How to live with them and still be around you."

His lips curled in a bitter smirk. "Oh, so you're not trying to get rid of them. You're just trying to ignore them."

"And what have you been doing?" she challenged.

He shot a frown in her direction. Of course she was right. But did she have to point it out like that? "I thought you were tired of pretending."

Ziva heaved a sigh. "I was. A year ago. A lot has happened since then."

He found the guts to look over at her, and found her eyes fixed on his knee. "What if _I'm_ tired of it now?"

He watched one eyebrow rise and fall, and he felt defeat settle in his stomach. "Then you will have to put up with it, as I did."

It was the worst response she could have given him, and Tony found himself unable to accept it. Anger and frustration flashed through him, and rubbed his face to keep from screaming. "When does this stop, Ziva? When do we get to the point where we decide enough is enough and we finally do something about it?"

"I do not know," Ziva said softly. "Maybe I will be clearer about things when I get back. Maybe we both will."

He made a resolution then, as he sat two feet from her and feared he would never get closer. He would apply his investigator's brain to this puzzle while she was gone, and he would find a solution if it killed him. He was done with this. He couldn't do it anymore. Ziva was right: it was exhausting.

A spur-of-the-moment decision had him reaching out to take her hand, and she raised her eyes to his in question. He swallowed hard as his heart rate spiked, not with fear but with gravity. "For the record? I have very strong and…long term feelings for you," he squeezed out. "I want to work this out."

She didn't move, but her eyes softened and he knew he'd done the right thing. She squeezed his hand. "Me too. And we _will_ work it out."

And that was all it took. That was the moment. The one he'd replay over and over for years. Long after he'd left Gibbs' team to lead his own, as he got a little wiser and a lot greyer, as family members were born and died. He didn't know it then, and it would take him years to realise. But that moment was the one that would set him up for life.

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Thanks for reading! **


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